I text.

I call.

I text.

I call.

He doesn't respond.

Anna tries, too, but he doesn't answer her, either. "I'm sure it's some stupid misunderstanding," she assures me. But I'm pretty positive she doesn't believe that.

After Anna goes home, I continue to replay the entire porch in my head, looking for clues, trying to remember exactly when I noticed something was wrong. I ask appa, but he's no help. I'm suffering, I even ask Jacqueline, and when I can tell by the expression on her face that even she feels pity for my desperate state, I nearly start crying in front of her, and that's when I know things have gone to hell in a second.

"He claimed he got a text sometime during or after your dad was telling that story," Jacqueline says.

I rub the sockets of my eyes with my hands; my head's throbbing. On top of this, I think I'm getting sick. "But why wouldn't he tell me about it?"

"I hate to ask this," appa says in a gentle voice, "but did you do anything that may have wounded his feelings? Lie to him in someway that he may have found out about?"

"No!" I say. "Like cheat on him or something?"

Appa raises both hands. "I didn't mean to imply that. Does he know about your online friend?"

"V?" I shake my head. "I haven't spoken to V online in weeks. And I never met him in person - or even found him. He blew me off because he found a girlfriend or something, I don't know. It doesn't matter. We never even really flirted. He was a sweet guy. We were just friends, honest."

"No ting or dirty photos that could have leaked online?" Jacqueline asks.

"God no," I say, and appa practically wilts, he's so relieved. Way to have faith, jeez.

"Just checking," Jacqueline says. She's in total cop-interrogation mode. "And Taehyung was the hickey giver, right?"

"Yes," I snap. I don't mean to, but I can't help it.

I don't like where this conversation is going. Before long, she's going to ask me to submit to STD testing. And meanwhile, appa, who's staring absently at his sci-fi movies, making a choking noise, like he just realized something, but when I ask him what it is, he waves it away.

"It's nothing," he says, looking dazed and almost . . . amused. "Whatever's going on, I'm sure you'll figured it out, sweetie."

That just makes me even more frustrated, and a little angry, to be honest. Noe of this is really helping, so what's the point? I sneeze twice, and when Appa asks me if I'm coming down with a cold, I ingore him and go to my room. Then I plug in my phone and watch it as if the fate of the entire planet depends on one small, melodic chime emanating from its tiny speaker.

I wait until 2 a.m., and when that chime doesn't come, I turn on my side and stare at the wall, heart shattering, until I drift into restless sleep.

☜(⌒▽⌒)☞

By the time my shift at the Vogue rolls around the next day, I've made myself so sick with worry, I can't tell whether I want to see Taehyung or not. I've been trying so hard not to close myself up, but I hesitate in the parking lot when I see his van, and take the long route around to the employee door. This must be how alcoholics feel when they fall off the wagon.

When I finally do see him, it's in the cash-out room at the exact same moment that Anna walks in to count her drawer. My body tenses so hard at the sight of him, I'm in physical pain. Anna has taken on the role of peacemaker as she greets us, lightly complaining about how they've scheduled our lunch breaks, but neither Taehyung nor I say anything. It's awkward. Everyone knows it.

I can't do this. I've had no sleep. My mind is the consistency of wet sand. I'm pretty sure I'm running a fever, I've got chills, my nose won't stop running, and my eyeballs hurt. I'm not the only one; half of the staff is out with some weird summer virus that Anna is calling "the flu." But I ignore how I feel physically, because I need to know what's going on with Taehyung. I have to!

"No," I tell Taehyung, blocking his way out of the room. "This isn't fair. I stayed up all night worrying. You need to tell me what's going on right now."

"Can we not do this here?" Taehyung says, eyeing Anna.

"Where, then? I texted and called. How can I fix this if you won't tell me what I did wrong?"

"I needed to think." Now that I'm looking directly at his eyes for the first time, I can see that he looks bad as I feel. Dark circles, he looked exhausted. Good. "Maybe you need to do some thinking too."

"Think about what?" I ask, completely clueless.

He looks at Anna again. "Look," he says in a lower voice, "I just . . .I'm really overwhelmed right now. I need a little space, okay?"

His words sting like a thousand bees.

"Taehyung," I whisper.

The door to cash-out swings open, and Mr. Lopez walks inside with his clipboard. He opens his mouth to greet us, but whatever he starts to say is drowned out by my sneezing. Not polite sneezing either; I have to lunge for the tissue box  by the empty cash drawers afterward, and turn around while I clean myself up. I'm a disgusting mess.

"You've got it too?" Lopez says, sounding horrified. When I turn around, he backs away and shakes his head. "Absolutely not. Anna, disinfect everything in the cash-out that she's touched. Suzy, go home."

"What? I'm fine!" I say through a tissue.

"You're sick. Go home. Call in tomorrow and let me know how you are. We'll put you back on the schedule when you're not infectious."

No matter how I try, he won't let me argue. And when Taehyung and Anna was whisked away to the Hotbox, so are my chances of discovering why Taehyung needs "space." Miserable and feverish, I retreat home with no answers and crawl back into bed.

I will say no thing: Lopez was probably right to boot me out of the Vogue. And a couple of hours later, I wake up and my entire body aches. I cannot stay warm. I call Appa at work after I take my temperature, and it's 101 F. He immediately rushes home and drives me to an urgent care facility. where I see a doctor who gives me something to reduce my fever, basically telling me what I already knew - you've got the flu - and prescribes me a bunch of cold medicine.

The second day of my illness, appa changes the sheets on my bed, because I sweated through them all night like a beast. But at least my fever's broken. Which is good, because now I'm hacking up my lungs. He goes to work in the morning, but takes a half day, coming home at noon to feed me soup and crackers. He also tries to lure me downstairs, but I'm content to stay in my room. I have Netflix and Hulu on my TV. That's all I need to get me through this. I start watching a drama that reminds me of V, strangely enough, which makes me feel even worse than I already do.

Anna had checked in on me via text several times. The Vogue is down to a skeleton crew, but she's managed to escape getting sick so far. I don't ask about Taehyung. She volunteers anyway: It's his day off, so she doesn't know if he's sick too - but would I like her to text him and ask? No, I would not. He wants space? Have the whole galaxy, for all I care. I'm beyond wounded now. I'm angry. At least, I think I am. It's hard to tell. I started taking cough syrup with codeine today, and it's giving me a little bit of a buzz.

Another kind of buzz lights up my phone midafternoon. I hit pause on the movie I'm watching. It's an notification from Fashion All Around The World. I have a new message? Maybe this sryup is making me hallucinate. But no. I click on the app, and there it is:

@V: Hey. Giant Maknae, you there? Long time, no talk.

I stare at it for a minute, then type a reply.

@GiantMaknae: I'm still here. Laid up sick in bed. Oddly enough, I was just thinking about you, so it's kind of freaking me out that you messaged me.

@V: You were? Why? *is curious* (sorry you're sick.)

@GiantMaknae: I'm watching Hwarang again. (Thanks. Me too. It's gross, trust me.)

@V: Whoa. Hwarang? I thought you said you couldn't watch that? What about all the violence?

@GiantMaknae: It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I'm almost finished the series. It's so good. You were right.

@V: Color me shocked. (I always am.) So . . . anything new happening? We haven't talked in so long. Fill me in on what's going on in the world of the Giant Maknae. I've missed you.

I pause, unsure what to type. It would be weird to say I've missed you too, even though I have, because that feels like I'm betraying Taehyung. Maybe he never did. Lord knows I'm not good at reading people.

@GiantMaknae: The world of the Giant Maknae has imploded. Do you have all day?

@V: Funny, but I do.

I'm not sure whether it's the codeine streaming in my blood or the virus decimating my brain cells, but I settle back against my pillow and type the most straightforward text I've ever sent to V.

@GiantMaknae: Actually, I'm sort of seeing someone - well, we kind of broke up. I think. I'm not sure. He won't talk to me. But I'm not over him. I just didn't want you to get the wrong idea. And maybe you won't anyway, I don't know. But I used to think that there was something between us - you and me - or that there could be. And then this guy sort of just happened. I didn't expect it. So, anyway, I'm sounding like a complete idiot now, especially if you didn't feel that way about me. But I'm trying to turn over a new leaf and be more honest lately, so I just wanted you to know. IN case you were still holding out hope for anything. I just can't. Not right now.

@V: Wow. That's a lot to take in at once.

@GiantMaknae: I know. I'm sorry.

@V: No, I'm glad you said it. Truly. You have no idea how relieved I am to get things out in the open, actually.

@GiantMaknae: Really?

@V: Cross my heart. So . . . what's this guy like?

@GiantMaknae: Honestly, he's kind of an . Cocky. Super opinionated. Alway picking fights.

@V: ??? And you like him why, again?

@GiantMaknae: I'm trying to remember . . . Okay, he's also sweet and smart, and he makes me laugh. He's a surfer, actually. Like, stupid talented. And he geeks out about weather, which is sort of cute.

@V: I see. But he makes you laugh?

I suddenly feel horrible. Here I am, spilling my guts about Taehyung, but I don't know how V feels about it. About me. About this whole situation I just laid at his feet.

@GiantMaknae: No one makes me laugh like you do.

@V: That's all I ever wanted.

I laugh a little, then begin to cry.

@GiantMaknae: I missed you too. I miss watching dramas and fashion shows with you. And I'm sorry everything changed. I didn't know things were going to turn out this way. But I hope we can still be friends, because my life was better with you in it. And that's the truth.

@V: I hope we can still be friends too. I need to go, though.

When the app tells me he's logged off, my soft crying turns into full-on sobbing. I'm not sure why, but I feel as though I've lost something important. Maybe it's because he didn't agree that absolutely, we should and will be friends - he said he hopes we can still be friends. Meaning what? He's not sure? Have I damaged not one, but two relationships?

My state of illness doesn't allow me to cry for long before my entire upper respiratory system clogs up and threatens to shut down. It's probably for the best. I force myself to calm down, try to blow my nose, and finish watching the last few minutes of the last episode of Hwarang. At least I can count on Moo Myung coming back for Ah-ro.

When the credits roll, I hear noise downstairs, and then appa appears in the doorway. "You - Hey . . . have you been crying?" he says in a hushed voice. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"

I wave a hand. "Nothing. It's fine."

His brow furrows for a second, but he seems to believe me. "You have a visitor, Giant Maknae. You feeling up for it?" He gives me a warning look, though how I'm supposed to interpret that look is beyond me.

I sit up straighter in my bed. Visitor? Anna is at work. "I . . . guess?"

Appa moves out of the way and motions someone to come inside my room.

Taehyung.

"Hey," he says, gritting his teeth when he sees me. "Wow, you weren't faking, were you? Should I gotten one of those surgical masks?"

Appa chuckles. "I haven't caught it yet. But you might want to keep your distance and wash your hands on the way out."

Taehyung gives appa a casual salute, and before I know it, we're alone. Just me and Taehyung. In my bedroom. A week ago, that would have been a fantasy. Now I'm stuffed into unflattering shorts and a faded T-shirt. My unwashed hair is shoved into one of those messy buns that's actually messy, not y messy. And I can't think straight because I'm high on cough syrup.

"So, this is your secret garden?" he says, walking around as I try to shovel wads of used tissues off my bedcovers into a wastebasket. He stops in front of my dresser to inspect all the printouts I've taped around the mirror: Fashion brands, nail-painting guides, kpop bands, and pictures of models on the runway. "Ah. I get it now."

I'm sort of wishing he didn't. I feel very exposed, as if he's peeking behind Wizard of Oz's curtain. Why didn't I close my closet door? I hope there's nothing embarrassing in there.

He's made it to my stack of boxes. "What's all this? Going somewhere?"

"No. I just haven't unpacked everything yet."

"You've been in California for how long now?"

"I know, I know," I mumble. "I just haven't had the time."

He gives me an look before moving on to my shelves of DVDs. "But you had time to unpack fifty million movies? God, you're just like your dad, aren't you? Total film fanatic, and super organized. Are these alphabetical?"

"By genre, then alphabetical by title," I say weakly, feeling foolish.

He whistles."We need you over at our surf shop to reorganize the madhouse that is our DVD library, stat. Eunjin keeps forgetting to put the discs back in the cases after she watches something."

"I hate that," I say.

"I know, right? Criminal offense."

"Taehyung?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are you here?"

He turns around, hands in the pockets of his shorts. "I'm done with needing space. That was stupid. Just forget about it."

"Wait, what? How can I forget about it? What is 'it'? I need to know what I did."

"You didn't do anything. It was just a misunderstanding."

Still confused. "About me?" My cough-syrup-addled brain goes back to that night again, like it has a hundred times before, and all I can latch on to is . . . "You got a text from someone? You said it wasn't RM, but were you lying? What does this have to do with me?"

He squints. "Are you drunk. or is this how you are when you're sick?"

"Ermm," I moan, waving my hand at the bottle on my nightstand. "Codeine."

"Holy . . . You're on the purp? Glad RM's not here, or he'd have stolen that and drowned the whole thing in one sip. Are you taking the right dose?"

I stick out my tongue. When both of Taehyung's brows slowly rise, I take that as a sign that my answer wasn't appropriate, and sigh deeply, pulling the bedspread higher over my chest. "Yes. I took the right dose," I say grumpily. "And is you're just trying to avoid answering my questions, I'd like you to leave."

He stares at me for entirely too long, like he's thinking things over, or hatching some sort of devious plan - I can't tell which. The keys that hang on the leather strap from his belt loop rock against his hip as he jangles his pocket change. Then, abruptly, he turns around and heads to my DVD shelves, runs his fingers along the cases, and plucks one out.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Where's your player? Here? Let's see, what do we have here . . . Hwarang? Is this any good? Let me just put it back in the case. I don't want to pull a Eunjin. Is everything -"

"Taehyung!"

"- set, or do I have to switch the input? Where's your remote? If you've gotten your diseased crud on it, I'm not touching it. Scoot over. And don't cough on me." He's peeling off his jacket and motioning to let him sit next to me in the double bed.

I'm suddenly aware that appa is right downstairs. And wait - why do I care? I'm sick. And gross. And we're not even together.

Are we?

"Taehyung -"

"Scooch."

I scoot. He plops down next to me, long legs stretched out and ankles crossed on top of the covers. When he sees one of my snotty tissue next to his elbow, he makes a sour face.

I angrily toss the tissue onto the floor. "I'm not watching a movie with you until you tell me why you stormed out of my house that night."

"I'm being completely real with you when I say it was the misunderstanding of the century. And it's nothing you did wrong. I realize that now. Like I told you before, I needed some time to think about things, because it was . . . well, it doesn't matter. But" - he crosses his arms over his chest when I start to protest, like he's not budging - "let's drop the whole thing."

"What? That's -"

"Look, it's really nothing. It was stupid. I'm sorry for making you worry over nothing. Let's just forget about it. Hit play, will you?"

I stare at him flabbergasted. "No."

"No, what?"

"I can't accept that. I need to know what happened."

He leans back against the headboard and looks at me for a long time. A really long time. Now I'm uncomfortable, because he's smiling at me - this strange, slow smile that's hiding a secret. It makes me want to hide or hit him.

"Maybe I'll feel like talking after the movie starts," he says. "What's this movie about, anyway? I just picked something random."

Momentarily distracted, I glance at the menu on the screen. "Me before You? You've never seen this?"

He shakes his head, still smiling that funny smile. "Tell me about it."

That's weird, because it looked like he was choosing something particular on the shelf, but whatever. "It's one of my favorites. Lou, the main character, moves from one job to the next to help her family. Her cheerful attitude is put to the test when she becomes a caregiver for Will, whose a banker left paralyzed from an accident two years before. Will's cynical outlook starts to change when Louisa shows him that life is worth living."

"Is that so?"

"Your grandmother never watched it?" I ask.

"Don't remember this one. Do you think I'll like it? Or should I pick out something else?" He throws a leg over the side of the bed. "Because if you want, I could ask your dad for suggestions -"

I clamp a hand around his arm. "Oh wait, it's wonderful. So funny. It's like Rom Com. Let's watch it."

"Hit play," he says, sinking back into my pillows. "You can fill me in on trivia as it goes."

"And then you'll tell me?" I insist.

"Hit play, Giant Maknae."

I narrow my eyes at his use of my nickname, unsure if he's making fun of me, but I'll give him a pass. Because, hello! Me before You. I could watch this a thousand times and never get bored of it. Watching with someone who's never seen it is so much better. With Taehyung? I can't believe my luck. I hope he likes it.

We start the movie, and for the moment, I'm not caring that I'm sick anymore. I'm just happy that Taehyung's here with me, and that he's laughing at the right lines. It would be perfect, really, if he wouldn't stop staring at me. He's watching my face more than the screen, and every time I look at him quizzically, he doesn't even look away. He just smiles that same knowing smile. And that's creeping me out.

"What?" I finally whisper hotly.

"This is . . . amazing," he says.

"Oh," I say, brightening. "Just wait. The movie gets even better."

Slow smile.

I pull the covers up to my chin.

A quarter of the way through the movie, appa comes up to remind me to take all my various cold medicines, at which point several jokes are made at my expense between the males in the room. They both think they're comedians. We'll see who laughing when Taehyung gets the flu after lounging on my bed.

Halfway through, Taehyung suddenly asks, "What are your plans this summer?"

"Huh?" I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes.

"That time at work, you were telling Yoongi that you had other plans this summer, and that I wasn't part of those plans. What were those plans?"

My heart pounds as I try to think up some plausible excuse, but the cough syrup is slowing down my though process. "I don't remember."

His jaw tightens. "If you come clean about that, I'll tell you the reason I left your house on game night. Deal?"

Crap. No way am I confessing that I've been scoping out another guy half the summer - an anonymous guy who I've been chatting with online for months. That sounds . . . unstable. Psychotic. Taehyung would never understand. And it's not like V and I acted on feelings. We never proclaimed our love for each other or sent heart-filled, dirty poetry.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I tell Taehyung.

Even through my buzzy haze, I can sense his disappointment, but I can't make myself divulge my secrets about V.

"Think hard," Taehyung says in a quiet voice. Almost a plea. "You can tell me anything. You can trust me."

There it is again. The T word. My mind drifts back to our conversation in the back of the van. I need to be able to trust you.

I know he wants me to tell him. I just . . . can't.

I'm not sure when it happened, but the last thing I remember is Will kissing Lou. The next thing I know, I'm waking up dopey several hours later.

Taehyung is long gone.